


Tongue Tied

by staymonkey



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), New Teen Titans, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: A little, Acrobatics, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An Appalling Addition to the Home Alone Franchise, Breaking and Entering, Consenting Adults Having Consensual Inebriated Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship Dynamic, Giggling sex, Inebriated Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Nemesis with Benefits, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Silly, Sleeping with the enemy, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Dick Grayson, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, delayed gratification, edibles, just a bit, mild edging, staring contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21971329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymonkey/pseuds/staymonkey
Summary: Slade pays his professional contact a very professional visit.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 186





	Tongue Tied

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a blend of canons, but the premise is based on an issue of Deathstroke (1991) in which Bruce asks Dick about Slade's character, and Dick endorses him. Consider this a follow-up (of sorts). 
> 
> title from Tongue Tied by GroupLove

Slade generally liked San Francisco. It was packed, and it was chaotic, and the buildings were old which meant the windows were easy to wrench open. He liked the heights, he liked the hills, he liked the access to tech executives with enemies and he liked the teeming Bay Area attorneys who kept his contracts tight and his ass out of prison.

Titans Tower was not an old building, nor did it even blend with the other buildings in the Financial District. Titans Tower was outfitted beyond reason; the late Silas Stone had spared no expense in crafting his son’s playhouse. It was sleek and chromatic and a bitch to trespass.

So, he broke a window.

Ballistic glass never shattered satisfyingly, but Slade still enjoyed the crunch under his feet as he walked about the living room. No one appeared to be home; the living room was tidy with a thin layer of dust settled over the furniture.

Then, Slade heard the padding of footsteps. Based on the gait, Slade presumed either Roy or Dick. He was rewarded when Dick appeared in the living room threshold. His hair was a mess, and he was in only oversized, salmon boxers and a soft, worn Green Lantern t-shirt. But he looked well-nourished, and there weren’t any bags underneath his eyes even if his shoulders and expression were relaxed enough to imply sedation.

“Slade,” Dick said in greeting, a wide, easy grin spreading across his sleepy face. Slade removed his mask and tucked it into his utility belt.

“Kid,” Slade replied.

“We have a door,” Dick said. “It opens. You don’t even have to break it.” Dick yawned without bothering to cover his mouth.

“I came to thank you for your reference,” Slade said. “It bought me time.”

“This is how you thank me?” Dick asked, still grinning absent-mindedly. “By exposing me to the cold, cold outdoors? Fucking rude, Slade. Absolutely atrocious.”

Slade raised his eyebrows. The kid’s cheeks weren’t flushed, and so he likely wasn’t drunk, and his tone was playful.

“I didn’t want to reward your bad judge of character,” Slade offered blithely. 

Dick shivered pointedly. Slade rolled his eye.

“Alright. To your room, princess,” Slade said, crossing the room and herding Dick back towards the bedrooms. “The big, bad ocean breeze won’t touch you in there.”

Dick shuffled down the hall, but while also making his very best effort to wrap at least one arm and one leg around Slade at any given time.

“You on medical leave, kid?” Slade asked. Dick wasn’t moving as if he was injured, but he was definitely groggy and disoriented. Likely concussed.

“Christ, you’re unreal,” Dick groaned, squeezing Slade’s bicep while Slade dragged him into his bedroom. Petulant and touch-starved, Dick became deadweight until Slade finally stopped dragging him down the floor long enough to rearrange. He got behind Dick, hooked his elbows underneath Dick’s armpits, and scooped Dick up to his feet, but Dick must have misplaced his spine because he lifted his legs into an “L” before lifting his legs even further. He curled nearly in half in order to sling his legs behind their heads and grip Slade’s head between his thighs. The position pressed Dick’s crotch into Slade’s face, and Slade counted to ten to keep himself from slinging Dick off his person.

“You’re a fucking menace, Grayson,” Slade said instead, his voice muffled against Dick’s mons pubis. Dick yelped, apparently not realizing how compromising his position was until Slade spoke. He released his grip around Slade and uncurled himself with the fluidity of a cooked spaghetti noodle.

Slade released Dick just to pick him up again, this time tucking an arm beneath Dick’s knees while his other supported Dick’s neck. No room for impropriety.

“Actually, I've decided that I do actually want to be eaten out. I want to be eaten out _voraciously_ ,” Dick piped. "Go back to that earlier position-" 

Slade sighed and tossed Dick onto his bed. Dick bounced once and then spread out and stretched with a pleased grunt.

“Have you had an MRI or CT?” Slade muttered, straightening his uniform. Dick cocked his head and snorted.

“What, why? I feel fine,” Dick crowed. He rolled over onto his stomach, bent his knees, and reached back to grip his ankles. He lifted his thighs and arched his torso until his toes brushed the back of his head, hands still firm around his ankles.

“I meant for your concussion,” Slade said. He wrinkled his nose at Dick and Dick’s uncomfortably pliable body. “Although you should also be tested for a metagene.”

Dick frowned. Then he giggled, a little too loudly for a little too long. He giggled so much, he had to release his ankles and sit up just to keep his breath.

“I’m not concussed,” he cackled. “I’m high.”

Slade blinked.

“What's the occasion,” he finally asked, when Dick’s giggles subsided.

Dick curled up on the bed and rubbed his face against the cool side of his pillow. “I don’t have one. Donna’s on Themyscira with Kori and Raven, Wally’s in Central, Roy and Garth are in Coast City. Vic’s off-world. The kids are all in Gotham, except for Tim, who I think is in Metropolis. I had some time to myself, so I thought I’d…” Dick bit his lip and beamed at Slade.

Slade hummed. “You don't mind hedonism as long as there's no one to catch you. 

“No one but you,” Dick cooed. He rolled onto his back and not-so-subtly spread his thighs.

Slade searched for the strength of character required to leave an inebriated, amiable Dick Grayson alone in his bed, but found nothing. He began shuffling about Grayson’s nightstand.

“What’re you doing?” Dick asked huffily. He pointedly arched his throat. Slade scratched Dick under his chin like he would a needy cat. Dick whined, but then pressed closer into the touch and so Slade paid his impatience no mind. He opened the nightstand drawer with his free hand and dug around until he spotted a round, metal tin. He picked it up with a satisfied hum and popped open the tin before tossing the entirety of the sugar-coated contents into his mouth.

Dick straightened up on his knees and pulled Slade close, but only to nip at Slade’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“You owe me,” Dick cooed, loosely tossing his arms around Slade’s neck. “Those edibles were supposed to last me until the others got back.”

“Are you hurting for cash?” Slade asked, scratching and massaging the back of Dick’s neck as Dick nibbled Slade’s ear.

“Stop, don’t do that,” Dick mumbled. “Just buy me another tin, I’m not accepting charitable donations.” Dick pulled away and hooked a finger under Slade’s collar. “I hate this uniform. It absorbs energy and covers your neck. It’s criminal.” Dick frowned. “It’s actually criminal, but it’s also a personal affront. To me. Personally.”

Dick’s eyes unfocused, and after several seconds he whispered, “Wait, fuck. What was criminal?”

Slade snorted. “You.”

At that, Dick draped against Slade and smiled coquettishly.

“It's true, I'm criminal. Did I mention I wanted to be eaten out?” Dick chirped. “But like real gluttonously. I want there to be a splash zone.”

“Vulgar,” Slade chided, even as he slipped his hand under Dick’s shirt to grip Dick’s hip. “Demanding.” He stroked a gloved thumb down the soft hair trailing from Dick’s navel. Dick hummed.

“Charming,” Dick corrected. “Wet,” he added. “Velvety,” he purred, nuzzling Slade’s jaw. He danced his finger’s down Slade’s chest and reached to cup Slade’s groin, but Slade caught Dick’s wrist before he could.

“High,” Slade insisted. “Inebriated,” he added, lifting Dick’s hand to kiss Dick’s knuckles. Dick _shuddered_. “I’ll catch up, pretty bird, but you need to settle until I do,” Slade murmured, pressing forward until Dick flopped onto his back to accommodate Slade as Slade crawled up onto the mattress. Slade pinned Dick’s wrists above his head with one hand. With the other, he cupped Dick’s face. 

“Can you do that?” Slade cooed. “Can you settle?”

Dick blinked up at Slade with heavy lashes and glazed eyes. “Dunno. Can I at least have a thigh to grind against?”

“No,” Slade said.

Dick’s mouth parted in a quiet groan. “Alright,” he breathed. “Yeah. I can wait. But I’ll get bored. Play a game with me.”

Slade raised his eyebrows. “A game?”

Dick licked his lips with a wry grin. “First to break eye contact loses.”

Slade snorted. “If you insist, kid.”

Forty-one minutes later, Slade hovered above Dick where they both laid on the bed. He had his left index and middle fingers hooked in Dick’s mouth, and Dick was tracing the ridges of Slade’s fingertips with his tongue. They hadn’t broken eye contact except to blink; Slade didn’t know you could edge someone just by staring at them, and yet Dick was feverish and squirming. And although Dick was constrained by the eye contact to some degree, Dick had still managed to remove Slade’s utility belt, left glove, right thigh holster, and right boot.

Slade was near meditative. His thoughts consisted only of sensation: that of Dick’s mouth, that of Dick’s ankle brushing against his as he worked on Slade’s left boot. He was hyperaware of the muted blood vessels mapping a web across the whites of Dick’s eyes. Slade’s mouth was dry.

“I’m going to fucking ravage you,” Slade promised. He’d been making similar promises for the past thirteen minutes, but this time Dick grinned wolfishly. Slade obligingly took his fingers from between Dick’s lips so that Dick could talk.

“Do it then. All you have to do is look away.”

Slade frowned. There was a reason he couldn’t look away. It was a game, but there was something else too. When Slade tried to wrestle his thoughts into sharper focus, they slipped from him entirely.

“What?” he asked no one in particular. Dick giggled.

“You’re high,” Dick mused. “Deathstroke the Terminator is high.”

Slade blinked. And then a realization struck, and he scrambled onto Dick, hiking Dick’s t-shirt up and nipping a line from the scar beneath Dick’s left pec down to the waistband of his boxers.

“Slade?” Dick yelped, digging his heels into Slade’s back. 

“I’m high,” Slade breathed, spreading a hand over Dick’s mons pubis as he nosed the cloth just over Dick’s vulva. Dick must have stayed worked up because the cloth clung stickily to his already damp folds. “I caught up.”

“Fuck, finally,” Dick groaned, throwing his head back and crossing his ankles behind Slade. He lifted his hips to grind against Slade’s mouth, driving his heels into Slade’s spine. “I've been waiting for-fucking-ever,” Dick hissed when Slade obligingly wormed his tongue through the front slit of Dick’s boxers to taste bare, waxed skin. He probed lower, parting the cloth with his fingers until the tip of his tongue caught the edge of Dick’s aching clit. Dick whimpered.

“Use your words,” Slade pulled away to murmur. Dick huffed.

“They’re in the way,” he barked, with a waggle of his hips. “Tear ‘em off, I’m not moving.”

Slade slid both hands up Dick’s smooth thighs, snaking under Dick’s boxers. When his thumbs brushed over Dick’s hipbones, Slade leaned forward enough that Dick unhooked his ankles to accommodate the spread of his legs. Then, Slade jerked open his arms, ripping apart the thin boxers with a startled jump from Dick.

“You pinched me!” Dick shouted, kicking at Slade when Slade sat up to slide what was left of Dick’s underwear out from underneath him. Slade took a heel to the temple, but then he grabbed Dick’s ankle to kiss the arch of his foot. Dick settled back down, but grumbled, “You did that on purpose.”

“I did,” Slade said, mouthing from Dick’s ankle to his knee, and then from his knee to his inner thigh. Dick’s eyelashes fluttered.

“You’re a quinquagenarian brat,” Dick retorted on the tail end of a sigh.

“Sweet of you to mistake me for being in my fifties,” Slade cooed, nipping the thin skin at the junction of Dick’s thigh and hip. Dick snorted.

“Sexagenarian, then,” Dick amended. He liked the shape of ‘sexagenarian’ on his tongue, and so he explored further: “Sexagenarian. Saxophone. Sapiosexual. Sixty-seven. Seventy- _o-oh, fucking, shit, fuck_ ,” Dick choked out when Slade latched around his clit and sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth. Slade fervently rolled his tongue around and over and just under the slick organ until Dick curled his shoulders in.

“Little much, it’s just a little much, Slade, S-oh, fuck, _Slade_ ,” Dick hissed when Slade drug two, long fingers down the thick, swollen length of Dick’s vulva before pressing them into Dick’s heat. Slade steadily lapped at Dick’s clit with the firm tip of his tongue as slick pooled between his fingers and dripped onto his palm. Slade worked his fingers in up to his knuckles, and then he curled them until Dick jerked beneath him (knocking Slade’s eyepatch askew.)

Dick’s breaths came out in forceful staccato bursts as he screwed his eyes shut. “Not g-gonna last,” Dick gasped, arching his back as Slade sucked particularly hard. “Too much.”

‘Too much’ was Dick’s expression for ‘if you stop, slow down, or even sneeze, I will riot.’ Slade had learned that the hard way; during their first tryst. He shallowly pumped his fingers, keeping the pressure against Dick’s g-spot as Dick shivered. Slade kept rhythm when Dick shivered again until Dick’s shivers were spasms.

Then, Dick tensed as tight as a coil before coming with a full-bodied moan and a near-molten rush of slick.

Slade pulled his mouth away from Dick’s clit, licking excess slick from his lips. With a contented grunt, Dick clamped his thighs around Slade’s wrist and ground his hips in tight, slow circles. He spasmed one more time in an aftershock before relaxing into a puddle among the sheets. Slade gingerly pulled out his fingers, to Dick’s soft sigh. He didn’t bother cleaning up, they weren’t finished.

“I’m still going to sit on your face,” Dick said, his post-sex voice like gravel. “That didn’t count. That was too quick.”

“That was a gift,” Slade said with a smirk. “You only have me for as long as I’m high.”

Dick sat up on his knees, his shoulders loose and relaxed. “Lie down. Edible highs last for hours, Slade. There’s plenty of time in hours.”

Slade kicked off his remaining shoe and set aside his last glove. He stretched out on his back and squeezed Dick’s thighs when Dick straddled his face. Slade lifted his head to lap up the excess slick, but Dick moved just out of the way with a teasing smirk of his own. He busied himself playing with Slade’s hair instead, running his fingers through what he could.

“Hours, Slade,” Dick reiterated cheekily. Slade snorted.

“You forget, pretty bird,” Slade cooed. “My metabolism isn’t like yours. We don't have hours, we have _minutes_. ”

Dick planted himself so fast, he broke Slade’s nose.


End file.
